Please help - I've lost a certain photo

[IrishAyes]

21. You've doubtless heard the story

(overlooking any anachronism) of the 3 priests who showed up right after the Christ Child's birth; the Franciscan ecstatically admires the modesty of accommodations, the Benedictine something else - remember it's been a long time since I read or heard this myself.

And the Jesuit calmly steps forward to ask the parents, "Have you given any thought to his education?"
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For a long time I tried to serve the legitimate needs of the rowdy bus crowd, w/o participating in the hateful speech or the sex and drugs so rampant in their set; many of them are old or handicapped or under any number of challenges including two of the most insane men I've ever seen on the loose. The bus driver is supposed to help them up and down the bus steps and take their packages to the door, which he seldom did. He'd even refuse to go to someone's house if he didn't happen to feel like letting them ride that day. So being still rather nimble and admittedly stupid, I happily took over the package carrying and passenger assisting on the frequent occasions the driver gave no indication of budging. Some of those people were so infirm that they would've been virtually housebound w/o proper help.

It did little to sweeten their dispositions, though. When during the trip one (or multiples) would address me directly with their screed, for the first few years I'd start out as gently as possible; for instance asking, "Do you claim to be a follower of Christ, well versed in the Bible, in obedience to his commands?" An angry affirmative would follow, especially after they'd learned what question to expect from me next: "Then would you kindly direct me to the verse where Jesus commands his followers to hate their enemies and everyone who disagrees with them? Because I have never been able to find that in any translation...." Sometimes a minute or so would lapse before they built up enough steam to literally start screaming again, sometimes right in my face. If the driver wasn't screaming at me himself, he'd be egging on the one(s) involved.

Eventually, of course, the situation grew dire enough that I had to start writing reports to the supervisor and various officials who did respond a little but not enough to make any difference. On four different occasions the driver would be barreling down the road, shouting that he would KILL - literally KILL! - the next person who pissed him off. Which was always me, of course. Impossible to get on the good side of a person who dooesn't have one. When I started recording the various rants and sending copies to the officials who should've been stepping in, by that time they seemed to have washed their hands of the matter and the OATS bus regional manager sent me a nasty letter saying that they'd no longer accept my letters and emails, but that if I continued to be disruptive I'd lose riding privileges.

By that time of course I was only riding the bus to prove they couldn't get rid of me no way no how, but the gang was standing on my last nerve. I'd decided not to go anymore after that last day was over, when the driver had tried (2 days late) to get me arrested for allegedly threatening people with a gun, but the driver stopped to go into a bank before dropping me at home, and his 88 year old 'girlfriend' starting screaming and swearing at me at the top of her lungs. Her little partners in crime chimed in, and that's when I finally lost my temper big time. I am (or at least was) a trained contralto, and my voice easily outshouted theirs. I can swear like a sailor w/o blaspheming, and I proceeded to let loose about 4 years of pent-up rage at top volume, some of it in Irish which they didn't understand exactly but knew was uncomplimentary. Then I got off the bus and walked the 3 blocks home.

Well, that evening the regional supervisor called me in one of her self-righteous snits and I yelled at her too; told her where to go and what to do on arrival before I slammed the phone down in her ear. Several church ladies got wind of the blowup and called me to criticize my unladylike behavior, and they got the same response. By that time I was so enraged that I wrote another letter to the editor of the local weekly, which he duly published the following week. I said that while I did like some people in town, by far the largest majority I'd ever encountered anywhere were the worst, most hypocritical hellspawn ever let loose on peaceful, law abiding folks; and I didn't intend to apologize to anyone for a single word.

And that's the OATS bus story. Sorry to say, I'm probably too fond of relating it at the drop of a hat because I so like the way it ended. Now I'm just waiting for the old fart driver to die (he never was much better than a dead man walking anyway) and some of the others to go before I consider riding again, IF the bus is even in operation at that time. I can tell you one thing, that crazy driver's scared to death of me because when he encounters me in a local store, he turns pale and runs back to his little bus. One of my good friends who saw that happen swears she saw a giant, dark angry figure spread its arms around me when the bus driver approached, before he noticed me, and that's what made him run.

Not that I'd ever want to take advantage, but it makes me wonder if my guardian angel's a big black dude, ideally suited to terrify racist white enemies. Being such an ancient people, the Irish do seem to have an uncommonly close connection to the spirit world. It probably helps explain also why I've never felt really all alone in my life.